


To Those Who Wait

by mm8



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:41:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson knows that his flat mate and lover, Sherlock is acting strange, but that is nothing new. But when John comes back to the flat to the sound of Christmas music, he suspects the worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Those Who Wait

John _knew_ that the loud, ear shattering Christmas music could not have been coming from their flat. It honestly couldn't be. He had left their flat just thirty minutes ago to get more milk and tea. Sherlock had been curled up on a chair watching television, too busy shouting at the TV to notice that John had even walked out of the door. But as the ex-soldier came closer to their flat, holding his hands to his ears, the sound was deafening and it had become more evident that yes, the music _was_ coming from 221B. 

He took the stairs two at a time and when he got to the top at the door to living room, John found that Sherlock, dressed in his light blue pajamas and robe, was blocking the doorway. "You can't come in," Sherlock commanded.

"What?!" John shouted over the music, cupping his ear. "I can't hear you!"

Sherlock's expression was somewhere between being distraught and utter annoyance. He leaned forward and literally yelled in John's ear, "I'm going to ask you to look away!"

The next thing John knew he was being spun around and forced to face the staircase. He was about to protest, but as Sherlock let go of his shoulders, he grazed John's hands, lingering there for moment. The doctor shivered at the touch. John knew it's probably funny to be still electrified by his lover's touch after all these months, but Sherlock is different from all the rest. He can easily see when he closed his eyes, the two of them growing old together, retired then, somewhere in the country. Perhaps Sherlock would take up a _safe_ hobby like painting, tutoring young children, or even beekeeping. 

John stood there with his arms crossed, irritated that Sherlock had been able to barricade him from their home. What was he up to anyway? An experiment gone awry? That had happened plenty of times without getting him kicked out. And why on earth did Sherlock have Christmas music on so loud? Never mind that, Christmas or not, why did he have music on in the first place?

The music suddenly cut off and John could swear that he'd need to get a hearing-aid in the morning. He shifted slightly, turning his feet to begin to go into the living room.

"I told you not to look! Have you gone deaf during your brief absence, John?"

John rolled his eyes. "I nearly am!" On an afterthought he added, "Was that Justin Bieber you were listening to? From that Christmas album of his? Didn't know you went for that sort of thing." 

"What sort of thing are you referring to?" Sherlock asked, breathing into John's ear, something the detective had learned that the ex-solider found arousing. 

The doctor jumped, startled, and cursed. "Jesus Christ, Sherlock. Haven't you ever heard of personal space?"

To his amusement, Sherlock furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side. Clearly, he didn't have a clue. John sighed. "Can't I proceed to my home now?"

Sherlock seemed to snap out of it then, grasping John by the wrists. "No, no! You can't come in. I mustn't tell you why now. Will ruin the surprise. Already said too much." He spluttered out in clipped sentences. "Tea with Mrs. Hudson. Go. Now." And he practically shoved John down the stairs.

→ → →

For some reason John had done as Sherlock had asked him to and had gone to Mrs. Hudson's flat for tea. The sound of the Christmas music (no longer Justin Bieber but Susan Boyle) from 221b was still overwhelming but not as horrible as it had been inside the flat. Mrs. Hudson had cleverly provided John with a pair of earplugs for him to wear.

"Here's your tea, Love." She set down a cuppa beside him and one in front of herself. 

John nodded his thanks. "I can't believe he's kicked me out." 

Mrs. Hudson stared at him quizzically. "Sherlock hasn't booted you out, Dearie. He's just…" she fought to find the word she was looking for. "Busy? You know how he gets."

"But he doesn't even _like_ music," John protested. "Unless it's that blasted violin of his." He took a sip of tea and continued. "Last week I bought that new album from Florence and The Machine. I was listening to it while writing my blog. It wasn't loud or anything. Not like this." He gestured with his hand. "Anyway, I'm listening to the CD, my fault for buying a CD I suppose, when Sherlock storms into the room, declares how the music is distracting him. Then he takes my CD out of the player and breaks it in half." John looked dejected. "No apology. No explanation. No nothing. I was pissed at him for the rest of the night."

Mrs. Hudson patted his hand. "I don't like to get involve with other's relationships." She smiled lightly. "But you and Sherlock make a nice couple. I'm sure whatever he's doing upstairs will make sense soon." 

Before John could answer, their ears were accosted with silence. 

"Well, look at that." She grinned. "That was quite serendipitous." Mrs. Hudson stood up, and politely John followed. "Now, Dear, I imagine that Sherlock wants to see you immediately. Why else would he have stopped playing that awful noise?" Mrs. Hudson lightly pushed him out her flat, blowing him a kiss before she shut the door.

For some reason John thought his talk with Mrs. Hudson would have been more eventful than that. Like it would have somehow shed light on what Sherlock was doing upstairs. Oh well…

The ex-military man crept up the stairs as quietly as he could. He was a little tentative about what state the flat would be in when he got there. He envisioned the flat covered in ash, smoke residue from some explosion or fire on the walls. He wouldn't be getting the security deposit back, surely. Or perhaps, John chuckled, Sherlock was having some sort of dance party for a social experiment. He grimaced. Oh God, they were going to lose the security deposit, weren't they?

At the top of the staircase, Sherlock loomed, a childish grin plastered on his face. "Glad tidings, John. Glad tidings!" Sherlock gave him a light kiss on the cheek when he reached him. "It's time."

John could honestly feel sweat dripping from his brow from worry. "Time for what exactly?"

Sherlock's beaming smile widened as he walked backwards, expertly unlocking the door without the aid of his eyes, and thrust the door of their flat open. With a wide gesture of his arm he said, "Merry Christmas, John."

John entered their flat in a state of awe. The room had been transformed into a winter wonderland. It reminded John of the elaborate decorations department stores put up. Around the perimeter of the room was suspended an actual train set, the train being driven by a jolly Santa and the cars being packed with presents, elves and snow. Glittery snowflakes had been hung from the ceiling. On the mantel of the fire hung two red classic stockings, one with Sherlock's name in his distinct scrawl, the other remained nameless, presumably waiting for John to write his own name on it. Near the corner by the window that overlooked Baker Street was a Douglas Fir that almost reached the ceiling. However, the tree was completed bare of colorful ornaments, lights or tinsel.

"What do you think? I left the tree undecorated so we could do it together." Sherlock's voice oozed with pride and curiosity.

John spun around and around, taking it all in. "How did you do all this in an hour?"

"Hour and a half roughly," Sherlock corrected. "Easily enough when you have a brain larger than a peanut and far more advanced motor skills than those of a child." He waved his hand at all of the decorations. "I had all of this stored in the attic in boxes from my old flat. I used to decorate like this every year; I do love Christmas." The consulting detective frowned deeply. "But it all got so boring with no one to share it with." He grasped hold of John's calloused hand and squeezed. 

John stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck, and leaned in so their foreheads touched. At that moment they did not need words to express their emotions.

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).


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